


Infallible

by ADashOfStarshine (ADashOfInsanity)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADashOfInsanity/pseuds/ADashOfStarshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>However far he rises, Alvis has always been surrounded by mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infallible

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nagamas 2013.
> 
> Please forgive any name confusion, I prefer the old names for characters (Alvis rather than Arvis etc) however I may have mixed up the spellings of some place names, I've seen so many different versions!

**_A Duke is infallible. He never shows weakness.  He is naught but strong._ **

He had known the wheezing old man to be wrong there and then. Yet those words, directed a child so uneasy in his seat of office, had remained with him ever since.  He had grown to suit the high backed wooden chair. His hands had been melded by the heavy stamp of office as he looked on all with a piercing gaze echoed by the portraits of his forefathers. Caught upon the precipice of manhood, he no longer has the excuse of innocence but neither can be bear the authority of adulthood. He fights for every clause and order that extends beyond his own lands. One day they will respect him, perhaps even obey him, but not yet.

The fire in his father’s study (not his own, there are still too many reminders of that man about) is kept constantly lit in the winter months. His anniversary falls near the dead of midwinter, unlucky some say, winter is a barren time, a winter baby for a frosty passionless marriage.  Alvis has learnt to ignore those whispers. They are fifteen years out of date. Fifteen years exactly come the morning, and it is getting that way soon enough. The other dukes seem to have thought his fifteenth anniversary a due reason to overload their youngest peer with paperwork so he worked long into the night to spite their patronising queries and imagined sneers.

The fire is slowly dying and he considers relighting it himself before calling a servant to do so, asking for more logs to put on before the study froze. The chill was already nipping at his fingers.  He had learnt when he was younger that fire magic provided momentary heat but proved only to incinerate what was otherwise a decent log pile. Conventional methods of lighting fires were generally more productive.

Scouring a long and unnecessarily flowery document, Alvis frowned and felt the weight of perhaps too many hours of work settle upon his eyelids. He would not rest until he had cleared his desk of parchment. Even as he rested his head against his hand, elbow smarting against the desk, he knew he could manage this all tonight. He had coped with such a workload before. He would not be defeated by such mundane concerns no matter how many were piled upon him.

There is a knock upon the door and Alvis sits bolt upright. He had slowly been sliding onto his desk as he proceeded to lean more and more upon his hand. Clearing his throat as permission for the knocker to enter, he prepares to reprimand the tardy servant about the distinct lack of new firewood when catching sight of a familiar mop of red his demands die in his throat.

Azel is bundled up in an old fur trimmed cape that Alvis recognises as once being his. This is of no surprise; all of Azel’s clothing had been his once upon a time. Azel had never seemed dissatisfied by his brother’s hand me downs so he made sure all had been stored away ready for when Azel grew into them.  The cape he currently wears gives him a mane of fur as he clutches it about himself It is far too long for him and tangles about his ankles as he hurries towards the desk.  Evidently at eight years of age Alvis had been taller than Azel was at present, however there is the more pressing matter of why he is here at all.

“What are you doing awake?”

Azel flinches a little and Alvis realises he must have been a little too stern.  He does nothing to amend this impression. Azel has no business being up at this hour of night and should most definitely be in bed. He isn’t even sure whether the hour still constitutes as being part of the night anymore.

“It’s your birthday Lord Brother,” Azel replies meekly, he glances up at Alvis through his fringe. Alvis is now certain Azel shall grow up much shorter than him. His current growth spurts aside, he is certain he was able to see clear over his father’s desk aged eight. Azel has to stand back a little to do so.  However that isn’t important right now.

“My birthday is tomorrow Azel,” he reminds. Azel squirms on the spot.

“It is tomorrow Lord Brother,” he says uncertainly, “And… and I wanted to be the first to wish you happy birthday so I stayed up and… and…” He hurried forward, drawing a package from his over-sized cape. His hands shook as he held it out.

“Happy birthday Lord Brother!” 

How he managed to smile or be quite so loud at this hour, Alvis put to his brother being a small child. He looks as tired as Alvis felt yet somehow he manages to smile and look alive, whilst Alvis is slowly sliding desk-wards into a mountain of parchment.  Perhaps it is the excitement of this parcel that has kept Azel awake? Taking it, he beckons Azel to come sit beside him.  Azel has stayed up all this while for him, it would be impolite not to give him some small comfort, not that his father’s chair is comfortable. Awkwardly tall and skinny, he hasn’t come to suit its opulent grandeur quite yet so there is plenty of room for Azel to come sit next to him.

He clambers up, spreading his cape over the two of them as he fails to bunch it about him on the seat. Alvis is grateful for the extra warmth, and in all honesty, the company. He has heard many an objection as to why Azel should not be allowed in this castle, let alone this room. Having his little brother beside him here of all places makes him feel he has achieved one step over his father’s dominion. In these moments this seems more like his study than Duke Victor’s.

Azel watches him as he opens the neat package to reveal a pair of gloves. They are thin but padded about the wrists. He can see their purpose. The gloves are thin enough to enable him to continue to write, but the padding serves to keep him comparatively warm.

“I made them Lord Brother,” Azel says eagerly, “Well…I didn’t make them I made them better, I made them look nicer, Sister June got the gloves but I helped.” Alvis allows him to turn the gloves over and show him his work.  The gloves had been embroidered with bizarre collection of branches, flames and birds. Considering all this had been done by an eight year old, it is rather impressive, though he does wonder why his brother is being taught embroidery rather than more masculine pursuits.

“I was going to put one phoenix,” Azel explains, “But then…it didn’t cover the whole glove so I put little phoenixes too, they’re a phoenix family with lots of flames and things to sit on.” That did indeed explain the randomness of the decoration. Alvis wonders if Sister June had suggested phoenixes to Azel or whether he came up with it himself. Either way, it was clearly a gift that had taken a great deal of hard work.

“They’re wonderful,” he informs his brother, “Just what I need.” Azel beams as he slips them on. They fit perfectly; Sister June must have done her research. Azel looks ecstatic that he is wearing them. He seems to swallow all his nerves and dares to awkwardly hug his brother’s arm, burying his fur-framed face into Alvis’ sleeve.

“Happy birthday,” he says again, though his voice is rather muffled.

“Thank you,” Alvis puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, not to pry him off, he doesn’t want that.  Azel smiles and shuffles a little to make himself more comfortable.

 “Please may I stay with you Lord Brother?” he asks, less nervously than before, “No one should be alone on their birthday.”

“Of course you may.”

Azel should really be asleep. He should be resting for his lessons tomorrow and huddled up in his warm bed rather than this horrid study. On the other hand that did apply to both of them. He was supposed to be in bed and he had a rather important meeting tomorrow. It would be hypocritical to send Azel to bed when he had no inclination to follow his own advice.  Besides, this could be a lesson, he thinks as he goes back to his paper work, one hand occupied with his quill, the other was attached to the arm Azel was currently occupying. He isn’t able to help a small smile appear on his face as Azel shuffles as close as he can and murmurs

“What are you working on Lord Brother?”

“I’m composing a letter on behalf of this half of Grandbell to the Queen of Silesia,” Alvis explains, “We’re trying to reach an agreement concerning the bandit strongholds that have arisen on our borders. It is a delicate situation because our messengers often get waylaid so the messages must be clear and concise enough to purvey our concerns however they must not be read by the bandits to know that we wish to be rid of them. There have been a lot of negotiations…” 

Alvis was unaware for how long he talked, however when he had finally explained the entire situation, he found Azel dozing against his arm. Despite his insistence to the contrary Azel has not in fact grown out of his thumb-sucking habit whilst asleep. Alvis sighs as he surveys his snoozing brother. He had paid avid attention to such details when he was Azel’s age. Then again, he had been Duke then and Azel has a blissfully title-free life ahead of him. With another sigh, Alvis rises from his seat. He can see the dawn beginning to glimmer through his window. He picks Azel up with ease and carries him from the study. He can allow himself a small break he supposes. He takes Azel back to the nursery, knocking loudly upon the door to wake Sister June as he enters. If Sister June had been awake, Azel would have never been able to stay up and slip out at such an hour.

The elderly woman came stumbling over to the door in her nightgown. On seeing her charge in her employer’s arms, her mouth formed a comical ‘o’ and she immediately began fussing.

“Oh dearie dear, how did he get out? I made sure he was tucked up nice and safe, he was fast asleep I assure you my Lord!”

“He may have been pretending,” Alvis informs her as he enters the nursery and places Azel on his bed, “He told me that he was waiting up to be with me on my birthday.”

“Well he does care for his big brother so,” Covering Azel in blankets, Sister June still looks suitably surprised, “Usually it’s the nightmares that keep him up, I’m always trying to get him to rest so he can grow up big and strong. He’s such a little thing.”

She turns to Alvis.

“May I say that you should be getting some rest yourself my Lord? You’re shooting up like a scarlet sunflower if you don’t mind me saying, all skinny and tall but all bright on top. You need to get some meat on your bones milord.”

“Thank you Sister June,” Alvis replies rather sharply. He does not scold her further. Sister June had once been his own nanny and she had never quite got over the idea he was no longer the child she should be coddling. He does however decide that it is finally time to rest. He remembers sleeping in the nursery himself, the warm blankets and the scent of Sister June’s meticulously washed pillow covers. He sighs and turns on his heel.  Those letters can wait a few more hours he’s sure.  Just forgetting it all sounds so appealing, even if it just for a little while.  He hopes Azel will forgive him for not spending all his birthday with him as he seeks the comfort of his own bed. Almost as an apology he keeps the gloves on as he sleeps.  The confusing designs and the unrecognisable phoenixes meaning nothing compared to a little familial warmth.

**_An Emperor is infallible. He never shows weakness. He is naught but strong._ **

He is cannot remember anyone saying such a thing to him, but he must have procured the phrase from somewhere. He wonders if he knew then that the phrase was as wrong or whether he too young and headstrong to comprehend such things. It had perhaps been said in a time when he had a family. Perhaps Deidre had said it to him. Perhaps he had read it in a story book with his children on his lap. It doesn’t sound like the sort of thing Azel would say. Azel said very little in the end.  Despite all reassurances he knew where he was headed. He even stopped addressing Alvis as ‘Lord Brother’, and Alvis never got to ask him whether this was due to a longing for familiarity or the fact he believed he wouldn’t live long enough to be scolded for it. Trying to explain why Daddy’s hands shook, or why he was disappearing for long periods at a time, was awkward when Julia had asked. She knew of Uncle Azel of course, however Alvis was unaware of what was the correct age to expose your children to death. That ignorance had only led to more death than he had ever predicted. It had been naïve to assume Manfroy was not watching his every move.  He heard his brother breathe his last when he could have been saving his wife. Not that he’d known he had the choice at the time…

Chalphy Castle is cold and his temporary study icy, but he sees no need to ask for a fire to be lit. He won’t be remaining here for much longer.  It’ll be warm enough soon, though the heat will be brief and incinerate all that approaches it. He’s seen men burn like logs, a woodpile of corpses.  They’re not warm for very long. He shivers and turns to stare at the small box upon the desk. The eyes of the Chalphy line, captured in ever portrait upon the walls, watch him as he carefully opens the miniature chest. It is a jewellery box, his mother’s, but it contains rather different trinkets now.  Her circlet had once been in here, he had given that to Julia before that dastard Manfroy... His hands shake again and he decides it merely the chill in the air. He takes a handkerchief, holding it pincer like between thumb and forefinger. It is so delicate that he is afraid of ruining it.  He simply looks at it for a while before carefully stowing it away in the pocket he deems closest to his heart.

That is what he intended to retrieve however he cannot help but rifle through what else is in the box. It is a casket full of sentimental value rather than material expense. Every small trinket, meticulously placed within the velvet lining, would seem mundane to any other eye. If this study were to be raided, the contents would be thrown into the fire and the case kept.  Alvis knows he cannot take all this with him and decides on one item. One item for each topic to regret, though that still may be more than he has pockets…

He neatly takes out item after item and finally, he sees them. He doesn’t remember putting them in here. They are hideous, mismatched and haven’t borne the years well.  Still… He places them upon the table and out of curiosity places his own hands beside the fading leather gloves. The gloves are of course far too small, better suited to younger less bloodied hands.  They are one in a line of not quite perfect handmade gifts that Azel gave him in the past. They got better with time but for some reason the only one he has left are these abominations. Alvis frowns, picking them up. Why these? Why not the painted wooden ink well or the carved candle? He lifts one glove to his nose and takes a wary sniff. Amidst the must of age he can still smell that nursery, so many miles away.  He wonders if Azel remembered it in those bedchambers that also served as his cell in Barharra. At first Alvis had had them locked to keep him running screaming into the ashes of his comrades. Then he kept the locks maintained so he never had heard the livid insults and mournful sobs emanating through the corridors. Finally when he deemed Azel would not make his escape, he had him freed. It made little difference, Azel stayed in his room, puffy eyed and furious. He had burned the curtains off the windows and when he had found the windows locked and barred he had given up and sobbed in a heap upon the carpet.

Alvis had requested frequent reports on his brother but heard from Azel himself that he had ended his own confinement. He had come into Alvis’ study quite uninvited, looked at him, before fleeing again. However the moment their eyes met and Alvis saw that burning gaze, so like his own, he knew his little brother wasn’t the adoring innocent he remembered anymore. He had grown. He had become world-wise. Alvis had never tried to justify his means to Azel, or to anyone bar himself. Everyone important had either bought the idea of a mass execution or said nothing so he’d never needed to fully explain himself. In whatever quantity, Azel still had his rage, his fervour; he wouldn’t accept an explanation anyway. Perhaps that was why he had never told him, maybe that was his excuse.

He believed they would both meet each other’s children in the end, though not as the same ages. He felt that Azel had been good with children. He had met Julia once in a corridor; Julia had later informed him of it. Julia who had asked who the sad man who looked like Daddy was and Alvis had explained that was her uncle. He had never told her she had cousins but perhaps she knew them by now. Azel seemed to have never mentioned them to her, he scarcely mentioned them to Alvis either and when he did it was on his deathbed.  For someone who had once so desired his brother’s company, Azel became silent and solitary. He refused to attend family meals and ate alone when he ate at all. A servant once told him Azel was fond of refusing meals. That hadn’t helped his sickness, neither was the fact Alvis hadn’t known about it early enough due to the fact Azel hid so much. He couldn’t bring himself to blame Azel for leaving him but…he hadn’t made his own survival any easier.

He picks up the gloves and inspects the misshapen birds.  He had tried his best.  Perhaps it was his age, perhaps it was his ignorance and therefore lack of experience.  It was a daunting task, one taken with far too much optimism and not enough consideration. Now they were useless, small and inconsequential.  There was never any lasting rebirth in fire.

“Your Majesty!”

Alvis turns and sees a panting messenger in the doorway, a soldier decked in full armour. He doesn’t need to hear what the man has to say. He already knows what is coming.

“I understand. Make sure all are prepared.”

“Yes your Majesty!”  He leaves as swiftly as he arrived.

Alvis turns away from the door and approaches the desk where lies the power the House of Velthomer possesses that cannot be denied, the Falaflame.  Neither of his children have received Fala’s blessing and he does not know where it will re-emerge. Perhaps in celebration of a passing it already has and the tome shall not be left to rest. He has however decided that it is finally time for him to rest. This study is hostile and unfamiliar. He can see _his_ eyes from every portrait on the walls. He could never become accustomed to this place as he had Barharra. He wonders if there is a nursery here like the one at his family’s home or even the royal household.  He remembers those victorious days, his love’s warm smile and the scent of old children’s books and spilt paint. Sister June in Castle Velthomer… Deidre hadn’t wanted a nanny for their children.

He sighs and turns on his heel.  That monster he still calls his son can wait a few more hours he’s sure. The fiend is unlikely to mourn. Just forgetting it all sounds so appealing, even if it just for a little while. He hopes Azel will forgive him if they ever meet again, Deidre too, and whatever is left of their children at the end of it all.  He lifts his sacred tome and seeks the comfort of its power. However power no longer holds any reassurance, not where it truly matters. He walks quickly to the highest point of Chalphy Castle, almost eager for the first glimpse of the oncoming storm.


End file.
